The Stolen Canvas(18)

“Well, Miss Emily,” Jem said, taking her hand and kissing it like she was a princess or something, “I’m very pleased to meet you!”

Emily stared out of curious blue eyes, her mouth quickly forming a smile.

“Can this be the same girl I knew in high school?” Jem extolled as Peggy appeared at the kitchen door. “You don’t look a day older!”

Peggy had changed into jeans and a soft lavender sweater that was one of Wally’s favorites. Her cheeks were pink with pleasure at the compliment. Jem was being too bold, but then Wally was always protective of his Peggy. She said something about wishing she’d known they were having company; she’d have cooked something better, but soon they were situated around the table.

“I hope you like meatloaf,” Peggy said, unfolding her napkin. “Did I miss you at our wedding? And what does J.C. stand for? When we were kids, it was always Jem!” Peggy could rattle on and ask more questions at one time than anyone Wally had ever met. He studied Jem’s swarthy face. If he was going to go around calling himself J.C., people were going to ask.

“I love meatloaf,” he said, “and I flog myself for missing your wedding, my fair lady. Alas, I was out of the country at the time. As to your third question … Jeremiah Hamilton Carson at your service.”

Wally groaned. Jem could be such a ham! All that high-toned speech!

But Peggy was clearly charmed. Wally felt a fleeting stab of envy—well, maybe just concern. Peggy was always ready to embrace the world, accepting everyone at his word. Innocence had its price, though, and he worried about her.

“God is great, God is good …”

Emily, eyes closed and hands folded, had begun grace before the meal as she always did. Wally glanced at Jem whose fork was poised in midair ready to attack the meatloaf. He narrowed his eyes like he was surprised or embarrassed. Wherever Jem had been in the last 15 years, he wasn’t used to praying. They hadn’t been raised to think about a God who deserved their worship. Sundays had been for fishing and hanging out.

Jem recovered from the prayer and began talking about places he’d visited. Every now and then he’d throw in a compliment for Peggy or a wink for Emily.

“So, where are you staying while you’re in town?” Peggy asked while they ate pineapple upside-down cake for dessert.

“Actually, I’m staying over in Petersgrove.”

An odd choice, since Stony Point was by far the more attractive resort town in the area. But Wally wasn’t surprised that the town’s bad boy wouldn’t want to get too up close and personal. Still, it had been a long time, and few would really remember him. At least not the way he looked now. Besides, lots of kids sowed wild oats.

“If you don’t mind,” Jem said, as though he had read Wally’s thoughts, “I’d prefer putting some space between myself and the good citizens of Stony Point. That is …” He cleared his throat and said with a shrug, “… best if they don’t know the black sheep of the family is cooling his heels in these parts.”

Peggy frowned. That could be a tough call for his friendly wife, Wally knew. She liked to share the town gossip, but she’d be careful since that’s what Jem wanted. “Well, don’t be a stranger,” she said, that bloom in her cheeks rising again. Clearly, Jem had captivated her. “You’re welcome to come by for dinner anytime.” She glanced at Wally, her eyes bright, expecting him to second her invitation.

Wally wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Sure,” he said. Jem had been seventeen when he left Stony Point, and Wally was fourteen. They had gone to live with their grandmother when Pop died. Standing on her porch, he’d watched his brother climb into a glued-together rattletrap Ford and take off with a wave of his hand. “So long, bro.” And that was when Wally knew that fourteen-year-olds could weep.

“I won’t get in your way. I know you two are busy, but I wouldn’t mind a look around the old place … The Cup & Saucer, Butler’s Lighthouse, Grey Gables …”

Wally looked up. Peggy had rambled endlessly about The Cup & Saucer, but he had mentioned Grey Gables only in passing. Jem had asked about “that Victorian house on Ocean Avenue,” which was surprising enough, but he even knew its name. Maybe his brother remembered more about his old roots than anyone thought.

But Wally realized that his hands had once more balled into fists inside his pockets.





6

Annie sat on the porch with her crochet project and a pot of Earl Gray tea. It was late Wednesday afternoon, the day after Tara had shown up at Grey Gables. Alice was on her way. She would have been on Annie’s doorstep that morning if she had not had an important Divine Décor party that kept her busy all day. Annie put up a hand in greeting as Alice came up the walk. “About time,” she called.